


That Always Seemed Stupid

by MountainMew



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 13:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5968675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainMew/pseuds/MountainMew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the greatest torture of all is being alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Always Seemed Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> This is just something I found in my trashcan and thought "Whatever," and typed up. Sometimes, trash is nice. I like writing a bad fic or poem every once in a while, because if I don't I feel like I'm not really a good writer, haha.  
> So this is awful, but not really on purpose, just in a way that I read it and think it's bad. Not because I pulled it out of the trash, either. I worked hard! Not hard enough to reach 1k words like I swear I will every fic. It's not worth 1k. It's not worth editing, either, but I got thirty minutes to kill.  
> And yknow, I keep swearing I'll write for Inaho, because I find Inaho very intriguing to write about. But I like screwing with Slaine, and his image of the world is fun to write. Actually, at this point I feel like the Slaine I've made up in my head is more interesting to me than the real Slaine, I'm pretty sure he's not really like this now that I'm considering it. But why would I ever rewatch A.Z to find out how accurate I am? That's for professionals, I'm a proud amateur thank you!  
> Enjoy!!!

  At first, I thought it was fighting. I reached my fist for his face, once or twice. I think it was the third time, that he caught my anger and turned it into something beautiful.  
  He pulls me forward, twirls me around. Doesn’t say anything at all, but there’s this utterly smug smirk on his face, one that matches his average face. His eyes dance with me, in a way of saying he’ll always win at these games. He always wins, regardless of whether the game is even winnable at all.  
  That’s why everyone despises you. _That’s why everyo-_  
  He’s dragging my feet. I don’t know how to move, but it feels like it could be nice. Boys look beautiful, I look like worn garbage. Still, when you move me, I almost understand the feeling of being Cinderella, like a flame that’s burning out too early.  
  At first, I thought I tripped, but you dragged me down, didn’t you? That should be graceful, but I think all the bones in my body are broken. My hand is cupped at the side of your head, and I can’t stop my stream of tears. Because you’re not there, anymore. She never was.  
  Her hair is shining, glistening without any light at all. I bundle her stray hair in my finger tips and watch it slip away like liquid gold. Watch her slip away, like an angel of death, or rather of my own shortcomings.  
  I remember yelling her name, over and over until my voice gave out. They echo against the walls until I can no longer hear, until all feeling is lost from toes to finger tips. I grip at grass, pulling the land to patches because it’s the only form of beauty I can give to her. I can tear you apart, and what would that bring?  
  I can’t touch skin, because it always falls apart. Everything I care for, my love and adoration, is destined for the same failure I’ve set myself up for from the day I was born.  
  The steel walls are so cold.  
  
  I play with chess pieces between my fingertips like food on a child’s plate. _The queen piece._ I want to stare out windows, see what about it was so worth protecting. See a woman’s face in the stars.  
  Mother, I want to remember what it’s like to be a child. I like to watch reality slip away, even for just a moment, because the decaying cell eats my brain as earth erodes.  
  I wonder if they’re happy. Touching my lips, I feel at the taste of a first kiss. Drag the taste, of twos, of pairs, and how pairs love twos.  
  If I stay here, I think soon I’ll be a flower in bloom. What kind of beautiful flowers are left on this world, I wonder. What kind of flowers bloom through cracks in the floor.  
  The pressure of hands capturing hands steals my focus from me. Two is a lovely number, y’know. Two hands, two feet, two parents to adore you and two lovers to despise you. Well, I’m just tired enough, for a kiss from the devil to feel like a princess.  
  And no matter how long I sleep, these days repeat again and again.  
  
  I grip his hand, as a loving father does. We walk together, and he tells me all the wonderful things he’s done today. He promises he’s being good, not getting in trouble or hurting anyone’s feelings. He smiles and asks me, “Have you been good, too?”  
  I don’t have the voice to say, but I smile back none-the-less.  
  Touching a mirror at the end of the road, I tell him, “It’s time to go home.”  
  The boy is already gone. I touch my heart, like empty glass I can pull away shards of beautiful things. Isn’t love a beautiful thing?  
  There’s nothing to be afraid of, that’s what I say before tucking myself away in the night. I pretend there’s someone there, to sing lullabies when I cry at the nightmares engulfing my brain.  
  It’s not so bad, though. Because when my eyes are closed, I can see her face, as she tears me apart at the seams. Watch my insides pour out like stuffing in a bear, and beam at my own empty humanity.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment! I took a lot of inspiration from songs and one of my favorite poems. Tell me about your favorite poems? I think Slaine would be the kind of dork to like poetry.


End file.
